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Thus Virtue finks beneath unnumber'd woes,
When Paffions, born her friends, revolt her foes.
Hence Satire's power: 'Tis her corrective part,
To calm the wild disorders of the heart.
She points the arduous height where Glory lies,
And teaches mad Ambition to be wise:
In the dark bofom wakes the fair defire,
Draws good from ill, a brighter flame from fire :
Strips black Oppreffion of her gay disguise,
And bids the Hag in native horror rise;
Strikes towering Pride and lawless Rapine dead,
And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head.
Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin'd Power,
Though oft fhe mourns thofe ills she cannot cure.
The Worthy court her, and the Worthless fear;
Who fhun her piercing eye, that eye revere.
Her awful voice the Vain and Vile obey,
And every foe to Wisdom feels her sway.
Smarts, Pedants, as she smiles, no more are vain;
Defponding Fops refign the clouded cane:
Hufh'd at her voice, pert Folly's felf is ftill,
And Dulness wonders while fhe drops her quill.
Like the arm'd Bee, with art most subtly true,
From poisonous Vice fhe draws a healing dew:
Weak are the ties that civil arts can find,
To quell the ferment of the tainted mind :
Cunning evades, fecurely wrapt in wiles!
And Force ftrong-finew'd rends th' unequal toils:
The stream of Vice impetuous drives along,
deep for Policy, for Power too ftrong.
Ev'n fair Religion, Native of the skies,
Scorn'd by the Crowd, feeks refuge with the Wife;
The Crowd with laughter spurns her awful train,
And Mercy courts, and Justice frowns in vain,
But Satire's Shaft can pierce the harden'd breaft:
She plays a ruling Paffion on the rest:
Undaunted storms the battery of his pride,
And awes the Brave that Earth and Heaven defy'd.
When fell Corruption, by her vaffals crown'd,
Derides fall'n Juftice proftrate on the ground;
Swift to redress an injur'd People's groan,
Bold Satire shakes the Tyrant on her throne;
Powerful as Death, defies the fordid train,
And Slaves and Sycophants furround in vain.
But with the friends of Vice, the foes of Satire,
All truth is Spleen; all juft reproof, Ill-nature.
Well may they dread the Mufe's fatal skill;
Well may they tremble when the draws her quill:
Her magic quill, that, like Ithuriel's spear,
Reveals the cloven hoof, or lengthen'd ear:
Bids Vice and Folly take their natural shapes,
Turns Dutcheffes to ftrumpets, Beaux to apes;
Drags the vile Whisperer from his dark abode,
Till all the Dæmon starts up from the toad.
O fordid maxim, form'd to screen the vile,
That true good-nature still must wear a smile!
In frowns array'd her beauties stronger rise,
When love of Virtue wakes her fcorn of Vice:
Where Justice calls, 'tis Cruelty to fave;
And 'tis the Law's good-nature hangs the Knave,
Who combats Virtue's foe is Virtue's friend;
Then judge of Satire's merit by her end :
To Guilt alone her vengeance ftands confin'd,
The object of her love is all Mankind.
Scarce more the friend of Man, the wife muft own,
Ev'n Allen's bounteous hand, than Satire's frown:
This to chaftife, as That to blefs was giv'n;
Alike the faithful Minifters of Heaven.
Oft in unfeeling hearts the shaft is spent:
Though ftrong th' example, weak the punishment.
They least are pain'd, who merit Satire most :
Folly the Laureat's, Vice was Chartres' boaft:
Then where's the wrong, to gibbet high the name
Of Fools and Knaves already dead to shame?
Oft Satire acts the faithful Surgeon's part;
Generous and kind, though painful, is her art:
With caution bold, fhe only ftrikes to heal :
Though folly raves to break the friendly steel.
Then fure no fault impartial Satire knows,
Kind ev'n in Vengeance, kind to Virtue's foes.
Whose is the crime, the scandal too be theirs ;
The Knave and Fool are their own Libellers.
ARE nobly then: But confcious of your truft,
As ever warm and bold be ever just :
Nor court applause in these degenerate days:
The Villain's cenfure is extorted praife.
But chief, be fteady in a noble end,
And fhew Mankind that Truth has yet a friend,
'Tis mean for empty praise of wit to write,
As Foplings grin to fhew their teeth are white:
To brand a doubtful folly with a smile,
Or madly blaze unknown defects, is vile :
'Tis doubly vile, when, but to prove your art,
You fix an arrow in a blameless heart.
O loft to honour's voice, O doom'd to shame,
Thou Fiend accurft, thou Murderer of Fame!
Fell Ravisher, from innocence to tear
That name, than liberty, than life more dear!
Where fhall thy baseness meet its just return,
Or what repay thy guilt, but endless scorn?
And know, immortal Truth shall mock thy toil :
Immortal Truth fhall bid the fhaft recoil:
And ere she strike, be fure she strike a foe.
Nor fondly deem the real fool confest,
Because blind Ridicule conceives a jest:
Before whofe altar Virtue oft hath bled,
And oft a deftin'd victim shall be led :
Lo Shaftesbury rears her high on Reason's throne,
And loads the Slave with honours not her own :
Big-fwoln with folly, as her smiles provoke,
Prophanenefs fpawns, pert Dunces nurfe the joke!
Come, let us join a while this tittering crew,
And own the Ideót Guide for once is true;
Deride our weak forefathers' musty rule,
Who therefore fmil'd, because they faw a Fool;
Sublimer logic now adorns our isle,
We therefore fee a Fool, because we smile.
Truth in her gloomy cave why fondly feek?
Lo, gay fhe fits in Laughter's dimpled cheek:
Contemns each furly Academic foe,
And courts the spruce Freethinker and the Beau.
Dædalian arguments but few can trace,
But all can read the language of grimace.
Hence mighty Ridicule's all-conquering hand
Shall work Herculean wonders through the Land:
Bound in the magic of her cobweb chain,
You, mighty Warburton, shall rage in vain,
In vain the tracklefs maze of Truth you fcan,
And lend th' informing Clue to erring Man :
No more shall Reason boaft her power divine,
Her Base eternal fhook by Folly's mine!
Truth's facred Fort th' exploded laugh shall win;
Coxcombs vanquish Berkeley by a grin.